blink and avert his eyes. In the same instant, the shape of a big saloon car came speeding over the crest of the hill in the opposite direction, its engine note high and strained as if the driver had his foot pinned aggressively to the floor. The car was just barely under control, all four wheels leaving the road as it sped over the top of the rise and went plummeting down the slope Ben had just driven up.
Ben was blinded for a second. He blinked away the sunspots, peering hard through the Land Rover’s windscreen to regain his bearings on the road. In the quarter-second before he’d had to look away from the dazzling headlights, he’d registered something unusual about the speeding car: one of the twin lamps on the saloon car’s left side wasn’t working – three blinding lights where there should have been four. But in the next moment the car was already roaring off, its taillights receding fast in his rear-view mirror.
‘Idiot,’ Ben murmured. He cleared the top of the rise and the Land Rover began to pick up speed on the downward incline. He hadn’t expected to see any sign of the Lotus up ahead, and wasn’t surprised by the sight of the empty road. Simeon had obviously cleared the S-bends at the bottom of the hill and was probably almost into the outskirts of the village by now.
Not wanting to throw an ageing Land Rover into the bends with quite so much aplomb, Ben took the corners gently and slowed for the little stone bridge over the river.
Then he saw the black skidmarks that criss-crossed the road like rubber snakes.
And the gaping hole where the side of the little stone bridge should have been.
Ben slammed on the brakes and the Land Rover slewed to a halt at the entrance to the bridge. His heart was hammering, his instincts telling him the worst as he leaped down out of the car and sprinted towards the jagged gap in the stonework.
A strangled cry burst out of him as he looked down at the fast-moving water below.
The frosty riverbank was littered with broken stone and wreckage. The tail end of the Lotus was sticking up out of the river, the rapid current washing over the roof. The car’s headlights were still on, casting a glow under the surface of the water. Ben could see nothing of its two occupants.
The silence was stark and terrible, like a shroud that muted the whole atmosphere around him. Ben had known it many times before. It was the stillness that accompanied the presence of death.
He tore off his leather jacket, kicked off his shoes and dived without hesitation off the side of the wrecked bridge. The shock of the icy-cold water was stunning, heart-stopping, and the powerful current threatened to carry him away downstream. Pressure roared in his ears as he kicked out and swam for all he was worth towards the submerged vehicle. The Lotus’ wedge-shaped nose was buried in rocks and dirt, completely destroyed by the impact. Where the crumpled bonnet joined the bodywork of the car, the windscreen was an opaque mass of fissures. Ben could only just make out the shapes of Simeon and Michaela, behind the glass, still strapped into their seats. He could see no sign of movement from inside. Bubbles streamed from his mouth as he called their names.
Then the Lotus’ lights dimmed and went dark as the water fused the battery terminals. The depths of the river were plunged into darkness. Ben fought a surge of panic that gripped him and made his heart race. He groped his way blindly around the side of the car and yanked at the driver’s side door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Either it was locked, or the pressure inside the car still hadn’t equalised. Which meant there was still a pocket of air in the cabin. Ben knew that it could take up to a couple of minutes for a submerged car to fill up completely. There might still be hope for them inside, but seconds were like minutes. Ben could feel the pressure in his lungs mounting fast and his heartbeat escalating with every passing moment as oxygen starvation crept up on him.
Clambering astride the crumpled bonnet he punched at the cracked windscreen. Punched again. He felt no pain, only dimly registered the injury. The weakened glass sagged inwards and gave way in an explosion of air bubbles. Ben shoved both hands through the broken screen and, bracing himself against the bonnet and roof and yanking with all his strength, ripped the whole thing away. His vision was getting accustomed to the murk now, and he could make out the forms of Simeon and Michaela inside the car.
How long had they been under now? Ninety seconds? Two minutes?
His movements clumsy against the strong current, he threw the shattered windscreen away and plunged inside the Lotus.
Ben had seen enough death in his life to recognise it instantly in Michaela. With only the Lotus’ old-fashioned seatbelts for restraint and no airbag to cushion her body, she’d been thrown forward under impact and collided hard against the dashboard. A murky brown cloud swirled around her head where the skull was crushed in.
Simeon was struggling weakly. His eyes flickered open and seemed to catch sight of Ben. The steering wheel had prevented him from flying forwards. It had almost certainly staved in his ribs, but he was still alive. Ben searched furiously for the seatbelt catch. His chest was bursting. His movements were becoming frantic. Don’t panic. Panic means none of you leaves this river alive.
Ben’s fumbling hands found the seatbelt catch and suddenly it was free. He tore it aside and grabbed Simeon by both arms. Bubbles burst out of Ben’s mouth with the effort of hauling his friend over the dashboard and out through the glassless window. With Simeon’s arm around his neck he pushed hard with both legs against the bonnet of the Lotus, trying to propel himself and the dead weight of his semi-conscious friend upwards towards the surface. He saw lights on the water a few feet from his head. The surface was just there, so close, so out of reach. His strength was failing.
Two and a half minutes under. Maybe three. He was going to drown.
Don’t panic.
Where the strength came from for that final desperate lunge for the surface, Ben would never know. A wheezing gasp erupted from his lungs as his head broke the surface. He dimly heard a yell from across the water. Lights and movement on the bridge. People on the bank. He couldn’t understand what they were saying. He paddled hard, keeping a tight hold on Simeon and his head above the surface.
Then, suddenly, there was soft mud under his feet. Reeds prickled his hands and face. With a roar of effort he heaved Simeon’s limp body up onto the bank, where two of the passersby who’d scrambled down from the bridge were waiting with shouts of encouragement. They seized Simeon’s arms and hauled him clear of the water. Ben scrambled up the muddy bank and crouched over his friend, turning him over and letting the river water drain from his lungs. He yelled his name. The two passersby stood back in grim silence.
Simeon’s eyes were shut. His face was white in the lights from the bridge, his wet hair plastered across his brow. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and down his cheeks into the mud. More lights were appearing in the distance, a flashing and swirling of blue on the horizon, accompanied by a building chorus of sirens.
Simeon’s pulse was fading. It was barely there at all. Ben knelt helplessly over him, feeling the terrible concavity of his chest where the ribs were crushed inwards and knowing that the emergency chest compressions of cardiopulmonary resuscitation would probably kill him.
Simeon’s eyes opened. For a brief moment, they stared right into Ben’s. His lips pursed and opened, as if he were trying to say something. His hand twitched, then moved upwards to weakly grasp Ben’s arm.
‘Jude …’ Simeon’s voice was a dying whisper. His eyes seemed to be imploring Ben.
Then they closed again.
‘Simeon!’ Ben felt for the pulse
